


Lucky Number 72

by dysonrules



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 05:02:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dysonrules/pseuds/dysonrules
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is not exactly stalking Draco... oh who the hell are we kidding? Of course he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucky Number 72

This fic was actually written because the amazing draykonis (no longer online *sadface*) drew this for my birthday and I think you'll agree it REQUIRED a fic.

 

Harry did not quite believe his eyes at first. He jostled through the crowd and earned himself a half dozen angry looks and more than one annoyed outburst before he caught sight of the platinum head he'd been following. Even with his suspicions confirmed, he still could not quite accept it. He was at a _Muggle_ football game, for Merlin’s sake. Why the hell would Draco Malfoy attend a Muggle football game? It was definitely Malfoy, even though it was difficult to tell based on his outfit. He wore Muggle jeans, a yellow shirt with the sleeves rolled up over a red and black checkerboard top, black fingerless gloves, and a pink plaid tie. Not exactly standard Muggle dress, but perfectly in character for a wizard trying to pawn himself off as a Muggle. Despite the clothes, the walk was unmistakable. Harry would recognize it anywhere.

He shadowed Malfoy through the crowd and wished he had caught sight of him earlier.  Had Malfoy actually come to watch the game, or was his purpose more nefarious?  Was he here alone?  Harry found the latter highly doubtful.  Malfoy was probably meeting some of his former Death Eater cohorts with the intention of starting some sort of trouble.  Muggle-baiting, perhaps.  Whatever he was up to, Harry planned to stop him.

Harry had come to the football game with Dean Thomas, who was still a crazed fan.  Harry tried hard to maintain his friendships from Hogwarts and even though he was not particularly excited about the game, he still enjoyed the time he spent with Dean, except when Dean rushed off to the locker room after the game to fanboy the members of his favourite team.  Harry had been looking for a safe place to Disapparate from when he'd caught sight of his former nemesis.

As expected, Malfoy did not leave the stadium with the rest of the departing spectators, but instead lurked about near the stands.  Harry assumed he was waiting for someone, so he parked himself in a suitably concealed spot and watched.  After long minutes, the crowd largely disappeared and yet Malfoy lurked, leaning against the edge of a concession booth while examining his fingernails for doubtless nonexistent debris.  Harry sneered.  Merlin forbid the bastard get a speck of dirt beneath his pristine nails.

Instead of meeting someone, Malfoy finally pushed away from his post and sauntered towards the empty playing field.  Harry’s eyes narrowed and he followed at what he deemed a safe distance.  Harry figured the Muggle football jersey emblazoned with his lucky number (seventy-two) should help him blend with the straggling fans should Malfoy turn around.

Malfoy made his way through the stands to the playing field and stepped out onto the grass.  The place was deserted and the lights had already been shut off, leaving the field gloomy with the growing shadows of evening.

Malfoy did not pause, but strode straight towards one of the netted goals.  Harry gnashed his teeth, unwilling to leave the concealment of the stands, but he wanted to know what the hell Malfoy was up to.  Was he casting some sort of spell on the goal in order to rig a Muggle game?  What purpose would that serve?  Malfoy did not need money.  Even though the Malfoys had been forced to pay reparations after the war, Harry knew damned well they still had a sizable fortune hidden away from the grasping fingers of the Ministry.

Malfoy paused near the goal and Harry reluctantly dragged out his wand and cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself before leaving the stands to follow after.  He hoped it would conceal him well enough to determine Malfoy’s purpose without detection.

Malfoy seemed to be lost in thought when Harry approached.  Malfoy’s wand was out, however, and he was muttering something.  A spell?  Harry tiptoed closer, straining his ears to hear the words.  Malfoy whirled suddenly, stepped forwards, and shoved Harry’s chest _hard_.  He staggered back and slammed into the goal post with a gasp of pain.  Before he could recover, Malfoy tore Harry’s wand from his grip and murmured a spell.  Cold metal encircled both of Harry's wrists.

“What the—?”

Harry lunged for his wand, but discovered his wrists were effectively shackled to the metal pole.  He could barely move his arms.

“You bastard!” he cried.  “You lured me here to trap me?”

Malfoy sneered.  “Don’t flatter yourself, Potter.  I only trapped you because of your inept stupidity in following me.  What are you after this time?  Still suspecting me of Dark plots?”

Harry glared.  “I was right about you before.  Why would I ignore my instincts now?”

Malfoy stepped forwards and cupped Harry’s chin in his right hand.  The rough edge of the fingerless glove scraped Harry’s flesh slightly.  “Maybe you were wrong about me before.  Maybe you’ll be wrong about me _every_ time, Potter.”

Harry wanted to snarl at him, but he knew the upper hand belonged to Malfoy.  His grey eyes glinted with triumph at Harry’s silence.  A golden key dangled from Malfoy’s left hand, drawing Harry’s attention.  His eyes left the key when the movement dislodged Malfoy’s sleeve and disclosed a glimpse of the Dark Mark on his forearm.  Harry swallowed, suddenly feeling out of his element.

“What are you willing to do for this key, I wonder?” Malfoy mused.  His thumb caressed the edge of Harry’s jaw and he leaned closer.  Harry felt his breath stutter to a halt when Malfoy’s face grew in his vision, near enough to kiss.  His eyes fluttered shut and time seemed to stand still as he waited in shocked anticipation.  Instead of lips pressing against his, warm breath ghosted over his cheek.  “Think about it, Potter.”

Harry’s eyes snapped open as Malfoy released him and sauntered away.  Harry watched him in growing horror and yanked sharply at his metal bonds.  “Malfoy!” he shouted.

Malfoy granted him a jaunty wave over his shoulder but did not pause in his march across the field, leaving Harry chained to the metal goal.

“Damn you, Malfoy!” Harry yelled.  The sound echoed from the stands and seemed to mock him until the echoes died away.

 

After a few minutes it was obvious that Malfoy was not coming back.  _Okay, Harry, time to get yourself out of this mess_ , he decided.  Resigning himself to a long night, he looked carefully at the post to which he was chained.  The net was held to the bar with twisted pieces of wire.  Harry grinned.

He untwisted a bit of wire and set to work picking the handcuffs.  It was a thankless, boring skill the Ministry had insisted Aurors learn, just in case they were ever imprisoned by Muggles and their wands taken.  Imprisoned by Muggles or evil tossers.

Harry was still stuck in the handcuffs when the sprinklers came on.  He was thoroughly soaked in moments and the water was frigid.  Harry entertained himself by muttering vile insults about Draco Malfoy and trying to ensure that each one was worse than the last.

A _tsking_ sound nearly made him drop his bit of wire.

“Potter, what a filthy mouth you have.  It makes one wonder where it has been.”

“Fuck you, Malfoy!  Are you going to set me free?”  In truth, Harry was rather surprised to see him.  Malfoy stood beneath the spraying water, still clad in the bizarre outfit, but completely dry thanks to an encompassing Umbrella Charm.  Water cascaded around the edges of Malfoy’s invisible bubble, glinting in the moonlight.

“I came to see if you had thought about my question.”

“What question?” Harry snapped.

“The one in which I wondered what you would _do_ in order to be freed.”

Harry blinked at him through the water dribbling into his eyes from his dripping hair.  He wondered why the statement had sounded so suggestive.  “What?  What do you want me to do?”

Malfoy moved closer, near enough that his Umbrella Charm partially covered Harry, blocking the water from pouring over his face.  “Now we’re getting somewhere, Potter.”

At that moment, the lock gave beneath Harry’s bent wire probe.  He felt a flare of immense satisfaction and had to fight to keep triumph from lighting his features.  With a twist of his arms, Harry freed one shackle from his wrist and slipped it around the bar.  He growled low in his throat as he launched himself at Malfoy.

Malfoy made an undignified squeak as he toppled backwards into the mud with Harry on top of him.  The Charm dissolved and water poured over them both.

“Now what do you have to say, Malfoy, you bloody fuckwit?”

A devilish grin twisted Malfoy’s lips, showing a row of perfect white teeth.  “Actually, this isn’t that far from what I had in mind.”

Harry, occupied with trying to choose what form of torture to use on Malfoy first, nearly missed the words.  When they sank in, he gaped at him.  “ _What?_ ”

Two hands shoved hard at Harry’s chest, almost knocking him over, but a quick movement of his legs allowed him to regain his position and prevent Malfoy’s escape.  The grey eyes narrowed.  “Never mind,” Malfoy snarled.  “Just get it over with.  Hex me or hit me or whatever and get lost, Potter.”

 Instead of hexing, Harry mulled over Malfoy’s words.  What could he have meant?  He cocked his head and looked curiously at Malfoy, whose hair was beginning to stick to his forehead as rivulets of water ran over his cheeks.  In the dim light from the moon, his face was quite beautiful.  He no longer seemed cocky and overbearing, lying in the mud with his yellow shirt ruined and rain destroying his perfect coif.  Harry’s hands were wrapped around Malfoy’s wrists, pressing them into the muddy grass.

“It’s difficult to hex you without a wand,” Harry murmured.  “Where is it?”

Malfoy’s lips slowly curved back into the familiar smirk.  For once, Harry did not feel like smashing it with a fist.  He was bizarrely enchanted by Malfoy’s features now that he actually looked at them for the first time in… well, hours, at any rate.  And it was the first time he had _admired_ Malfoy’s face.  Always before he had wanted to crush it rather than trace the lines with his fingers.

“Why don’t you look for it?” Malfoy taunted.

_Bloody hell, he couldn’t possibly mean…?_

The sprinklers shut off .  They both froze at the cessation of water and noise, but the stasis lasted only a moment.  Harry set his jaw and shifted his position until he sat firmly on Malfoy’s abdomen.  Malfoy made no move to escape, so Harry released one wrist and ran a hand down Malfoy’s arm, feeling for a forearm sheath.  The Dark Mark gleamed for a moment and Harry’s breath caught, but the malice of the tattoo was gone, snuffed out with its maker long ago.

Harry’s hand continued its path, gripping hard biceps and trailing over Malfoy’s collarbone, seeking straps that would speak of a concealed pouch.  Where would Malfoy keep his wand?  Surely not in his back pocket—that was a Muggle trait; wizarding clothes did not generally contain rear pockets.  The thought of fondling Malfoy’s arse was oddly enticing.  _Only because he would yipe like a girl_ , Harry decided.

Malfoy still made no movement, remaining placid beneath Harry’s inspection.  Harry’s other hand made the same journey over wrist, arm, and shoulder to join the first atop Malfoy’s chest.  Harry suddenly pushed the pink tie aside and tore the yellow shirt open—the mud had already ruined it, a few missing buttons would only guarantee it.  A gasp issued from Malfoy’s throat as Harry’s hands splayed over the dark checkerboard shirt that covered Malfoy’s chest.  It looked surprisingly good on him, hugging the curves of his torso tightly.

“You’re surprisingly fit, Malfoy,” Harry murmured as his hands moved over those curves.  _Looking for my wand_ , he reminded himself, even though there was obviously no wand hidden beneath the Spandex shirt that left nothing to the imagination.  Harry’s fingers bumped over Malfoy’s ribs slowly.

“I still play Quidditch,” Malfoy replied.  His hands lay in the grass on either side of his head, unmoving.  He looked submissive and almost content.  _Like a drowsy tiger_ , Harry thought warily, knowing full well the danger that lurked beneath the docile pose.

“Yeah, for the Montrose Magpies.  I know.”

Malfoy quirked a brow at him and Harry flushed, but he assumed it would be unnoticeable in the darkness.  In truth, he followed Malfoy’s career quite closely.  And it was just _possible_ he had a large poster of the blond git tacked to the wall above his bed—an amazing photo of Malfoy perched on his broom with a Golden Snitch in his hand, smiling with genuine pleasure over a spectacular sunset that highlighted his black Quidditch robes and turned his pale hair to spun gold—

Harry wrenched his thoughts back to the task at hand.  It really would not do to start a Malfoy wankfest while sitting on top of the man.  The mere thought of it made his cock twitch and Harry glared as though it were Malfoy’s fault.  He intentionally leaned down and jammed his hands beneath Malfoy, pushing them roughly over the corded muscles of his back, seeking a wand holder.  Malfoy obligingly lifted his torso to allow Harry access to his shoulder blades and the space between.  The awkward pose left Harry’s face uncomfortably close to Malfoy’s.  Harry’s lips brushed his wet forehead and the ridiculous urge to place a kiss there caused him to abandon his search and sit up sharply.

Malfoy grinned at him.  “Finished?”

Harry swallowed when he realized there was nothing left to search except Malfoy’s lower body, including his tight arse and those incredibly long legs…

“Can’t you just tell me where it is?” he asked almost pleadingly.

“And spoil your chance to feel me up?”  The words were teasing, but so bloody accurate that Harry glared.  “I am getting a bit chilled, though, so I’d appreciate it if you would speed it up a tad.”

Malfoy then crossed his arms behind his head as though he hadn’t a bloody care in the world.  Harry felt like throttling him.  With renewed determination, Harry pushed himself off and then knelt between Malfoy’s spread legs, trying not to think suggestive thoughts about the pose.  Which wasn’t working, especially when Malfoy flexed his thighs and lifted his arse from the mud before wriggling slightly.

“Go ahead.  I know you want to touch my arse, Potter.”

Harry growled, but put both hands firmly on Malfoy’s waist and then slid them in clinical fashion over Malfoy’s hips and then beneath, barely touching his firm arse cheeks before determining there was no wand to be found.  Harry’s fingers were slick with mud as he curved them back over the front of Malfoy’s trousers.  They seemed to move of their own accord as Malfoy’s pelvis settled back to the earth, and his thumbs trailed over the place where front pockets would have been on Muggle jeans.

“That’s not the wand you’re looking for, Potter,” Malfoy purred as Harry’s hands moved dangerously close to his crotch.  “Or is it?”

Harry could hardly breathe for a moment, looking down at his arch-rival.  Harry’s thumbs caressed places he knew would feel soft as silk if Malfoy were unclothed—the patch of flesh between Malfoy’s cock and the curve of his flank.  The sudden urge to actually see Malfoy’s _wand_ nearly overwhelmed him.  His eyes were drawn there and he froze when he saw the material stretched tight over an obvious erection.  _Oh Merlin._

Without thinking, Harry moved his hand and placed his open palm over the bulge before pressing down lightly.  An answering moan from Malfoy caused Harry’s cock to spring to full attention.  He rubbed Malfoy’s erection experimentally, seeking another response, and was rewarded when Malfoy’s hips rose once more, this time to press his hardness more firmly into Harry’s hand.

“Merlin.  Holy fucking Merlin,” Harry mumbled, almost incoherently.

“Don’t stop, Potter,” Malfoy said in a breathy tone that nearly undid Harry completely.  Harry left off touching Malfoy’s cock only long enough to tear at the fastenings of Malfoy’s trousers, suddenly desperate to free the hard length and feast his eyes upon it.  Malfoy wore nothing beneath the dark material and the pale hardness sprang free immediately, causing Harry to gasp in amazement.  It was beautiful, straight and perfect and glistening slightly at the tip.  He longed to touch it.

“My hands… fuck, my hands are filthy.”

“Use your mouth.”

_Holy shit!_

Harry slid his hands beneath Malfoy’s thighs and curled his fingers around the protruding hip bones before opening his mouth and taking every last bit of Draco Malfoy’s cock as deep as he could go.  A strangled cry issued from the blond, ringing through Harry’s blood like triumph.  _Fuck,_ how many times had he dreamed about this?  Without the mud, of course, but even with that it was so much better than any fantasy.  He sucked hard and earned another cry.  Bloody hell, he had never imagined Malfoy to be _vocal_.  It was thrilling beyond reason.

He followed the length back to the tip, pressing his tongue hard into the ridge of vein beneath, and then sucked the hood as though it were a prized lolly.  He swirled his tongue around the edges and then took it deep once more with Malfoy’s surprised gasps and cries singing over him.  Despite Malfoy’s request for him to hurry, Harry took his time, alternating between teasing licks and hard sucking, bringing Malfoy nearly to the brink before backing off and nibbling gently while Draco cursed him and thrashed in the mud.  _Merlin, the sounds he made._

When Harry decided the play had gone on long enough—largely due to the fact that his own erection was threatening to explode of its own accord, he found a rhythm, sucking hard and deep and nearly choking himself with the need to make Malfoy scream.  By the sound of it, the task was far from impossible.  Malfoy’s keening noises were driving Harry wild and he had to hold Malfoy’s hips hard against the ground to keep him from driving upwards into Harry’s throat with each downstroke.

 “Potter, oh Merlin, oh yes, _oh fuck_ , Potter…  Huh… huh… _Harry_!”  A hand clenched in his hair with the final shout and then Malfoy came explosively down the back of his throat, nearly choking him with the force of it, but fuck it was brilliant, especially the feel of Malfoy shuddering uncontrollably beneath his hands.

Harry sucked him dry, licking Malfoy’s softening cock gently but thoroughly, lingering on the slit at the tip and grinning when the action drew more shivers and soft cries from Malfoy.  He expected Malfoy to return to full-on arsehole mode and wanted to maintain the upper hand as long as possible.

Harry sighed and pressed his lips into Malfoy’s abdomen in a fleeting caress, already sorry for this to end and an entirely new shitstorm to begin.  The Great and Wonderful Harry Potter had sucked off a former Death Eater in a Muggle stadium.  The papers would have a field day. Harry felt Malfoy’s hand detach from his hair and curl beneath his chin.  His long fingers were wet from Harry’s sodden locks, but warm and almost gentle.  Harry looked up, but read nothing in Malfoy’s eyes—they were enigmatic dark slashes hidden by night’s shadows.  His grip tightened, not painfully, but insistently, tugging Harry forward.  He pushed himself upwards, feeling an unsettling combination of power and vulnerability.

Malfoy pulled him up until their lips met and Harry drew in a surprised breath—it was yet another unexpected move.  The kiss was soft and almost tender, little more than the press of lips and a quick swipe of Malfoy’s tongue against Harry’s upper lip.  He felt Malfoy twist slightly and lift himself in a reaching motion.  Harry did not even have time for suspicion before the wrench of Apparation gripped him.

They landed on hard marble and Harry heard Malfoy _whoof_ slightly as they dropped a short space to the ground.  “Where are we?” he asked, noting that Malfoy held a wand in his hand—he had obviously tugged it from his boot.  Harry should have started at the bottom instead of the top.  Then again, if he had recovered his wand he would not be lying on top of a partially clad, muddy, sexy as hell Malfoy right now.

“I am cold and wet and covered in mud, and I want a bath,” Malfoy replied.

Harry swallowed hard at the thought of Malfoy in a hot tub full of water.  He realized his erection had not dissipated one iota and was reaching the stage of actual physical pain.  The tip of Malfoy’s wand suddenly jabbed into his chin.

“Off now, Potter.”

Harry scowled, but obediently slid away from Malfoy.  He wondered if he could wrestle the wand away and use it against him.  _Probably_ , he thought, but was distracted by the fact that Malfoy’s trousers were still open and he looked dishevelled and ridiculously, sexily mussed.

“Good, now get into the pool.”

Harry glanced over and saw that the room they were in housed the largest sunken bathtub he had ever seen.  It was twice the size of the Prefect’s bath at Hogwarts.  It also looked hot and inviting.  He toed off his shoes, glad he had worn his trainers with loose lacing, but Malfoy tsked at him when he started to disrobe.

“Don’t bother taking anything else off.  Just get in there.  Walk down the steps.”

“In my clothes?”

“I don’t want you ravishing me while I bathe, Potter.”

Harry nearly bit his tongue to keep from snarling a comment about how Malfoy had seemed perfectly willing to be ravished two minutes ago, but he only glared and stepped obediently into the water.  As expected, it was delightfully warm.  He walked down the marble steps until the water was waist-deep, but Malfoy waved him back another step.  The water lapped at his chest.

A quick motion of Malfoy’s wand sent the shackle still clasped to Harry’s wrist looping over the elaborate marble handrail that jutted from the water.  Harry flailed, _too late!_   The other shackle clicked over his wrist once more, handcuffing him to the railing.  _Fuck_!  He glared murderously at Malfoy, who shrugged.

“I don’t want you going anywhere quite yet.  Not until I decide what to do with you.”

Harry was glad that his hands were shackled in front of himself this time, because he was angry enough he thought he might be able to gnaw through the metal with his teeth.  Either that or he could reach out and strangle Malfoy if he should happen to get close enough.  And it seemed Malfoy planned to do just that.  Harry watched with widening eyes as Malfoy peeled off the ruined yellow shirt and dropped it on the marble tile.  The dark fingerless gloves joined the shirt after perfect white teeth dragged them slowly over the pale fingers.

The skin-tight red and black checked shirt was next and Harry nearly drooled when Malfoy's gorgeous torso was exposed, marred only slightly with the long silvery remnant of the Sectumsempra scar.  Malfoy did not even smirk, but simply tossed the shirt and toed off his black boots.  Harry’s wand spilled from one of the boots onto the floor and he glared at Malfoy, whose lips quirked in a familiar superior grin.  Malfoy dropped his wand next to Harry’s.

Black trousers followed and then the pink plaid tie, leaving Malfoy completely nude before Harry’s voracious gaze.  Bloody hell, it was almost criminal that Malfoy should be so fit.  He was absolutely stunning, even streaked and caked with mud.

Malfoy walked slowly forwards and entered the pool one step at a time.  He stopped just out of reach of Harry, halting when the water  covered the pale curls at his groin.  Malfoy wandlessly conjured a handful of liquid soap which he proceeded to slather over his chest and shoulders, watching Harry all the while.  Harry pulled at the shackles, torn between wanting to either throttle Malfoy or shag him into the tile.

“Want to wash my back, Potter?” Malfoy purred.

Harry felt a surge of lust that resulted in an unexpected explosion of wandless magic.  A large vase in one corner shattered and Harry was suddenly free as the marble railing holding him disappeared completely.  He and Malfoy stared at each other for a shocked moment, and then Malfoy turned to flee just as Harry lunged forwards.  He grabbed at Malfoy, overbalanced, and fell into him, knocking them both into the water.  Malfoy submerged and Harry’s chin touched the surface while water droplets sprayed over his glasses.  Harry’s hands splayed over Malfoy's hips; he was painfully aware of Malfoy’s unclothed state.

Malfoy surfaced, spluttering, and tried to scramble away, but Harry’s hands tightened.  “I thought you wanted me to wash your back,” Harry gritted.  Malfoy twisted in his hands until his features came into view.  His eyes were wide and almost silver.

“Potter, I—”

“Relax, Malfoy, I’m not going to hurt you,” Harry said soothingly, bizarrely irritated at Malfoy sudden flash of what seemed to be fear, although Harry was well aware that it could easily be a Slytherin ploy.  “Although you might want to stop playing with Muggle handcuffs.  They don’t seem to work all that well for you.  Now turn around.”

A look of real trepidation crossed the fair countenance, but Malfoy’s jaw tightened and his eyes flashed before he spun around, giving Harry a view of his muscular back and tight arse, although the latter was somewhat distorted by the water.  It was a pity, really, because Harry would love to feast his eyes on the creamy whiteness before spreading them open and sliding his length inside—which was apparently exactly what Malfoy expected, based on the trembling tension in the flesh beneath Harry’s hands.

 “Hold still,” Harry murmured and then let go.  A shiver seemed to rock Malfoy’s frame slightly, but he did not bolt.  Harry cast a wordless spell and then reached up to rub shampoo into Malfoy’s mud-caked hair.  He had to use both hands due to the chain that still bound his wrists together.  The railing had disappeared, but the shackles had not.  Malfoy drew in a surprised breath and then relaxed slightly.

Harry took his time, pushing the slick suds into Malfoy’s blond hair and massaging his skull gently.  He pressed his fingers more firmly against Malfoy’s temples and then dragged them back near his ears before sliding them around the back of Malfoy’s head and caressing the base of his neck in smooth strokes.  Malfoy moaned softly as Harry continued the massage, sending a jolt of renewed want to Harry’s cock, which had not softened much since leaving the muddy field.

 “Rinse,” Harry ordered softly.  Malfoy sank to his knees and then slowly submerged while Harry’s hands skated through his hair, chasing out the suds.  Malfoy rose once more and Harry left off touching his blond hair in order to slide his hands over Malfoy’s muscular back with another soapy spell.  He felt a curious sense of power when Malfoy slowly relaxed under his ministrations, which were less cleansing and more massaging as he continued.  Harry wanted to slide his hands around Malfoy’s waist and pull him back into him, but the chain prevented it.  Or did it?

Harry raised his arms and looped the chain over Malfoy’s head before wrapping his arms around Malfoy and leaning into him.  Malfoy drew in a startled breath as Harry’s lips nuzzled his throat and then he moaned almost inaudibly.  Harry moved forwards slightly and pressed his erection against Malfoy’s naked buttocks, finding it extraordinarily unfair that he was unclothed while Harry was not.

Malfoy turned in Harry’s arms and met his eyes for only a moment before lifting his fingers to unbuckle Harry’s belt.  Harry allowed his hands to glide down the soap-slick back and cup Malfoy's tight arse.  Malfoy’s white teeth caught his bottom lip sharply, likely to prevent another erotic sound escaping.  Harry decided to assist him and tipped his head in order to capture Malfoy’s lips with his own.

A groan hummed into Harry’s mouth, sending a jolt through his tongue that went straight to his cock.  A shiver of delight shook him when Malfoy’s cool hand reached into his trousers and brushed gently over the head of his erection.  Harry’s answering moan mingled with Malfoy’s.  The sound seemed to encourage Malfoy and he gripped Harry more tightly before moving his hand in a stroking motion.

Malfoy’s other hand pushed off Harry’s jeans and he gladly stepped out of them and kicked them to float away to Merlin-knew-where.  He wished he could rid himself of the jersey as easily, but the handcuffs would prevent that, which was a pity because he would have loved to press himself into every inch of the gorgeous man in his arms.  Malfoy stopped kissing him abruptly, but before Harry could protest he sank to his knees.  Harry watched in surprise as his face disappeared beneath the water and then Harry's throbbing cock was enveloped in an altogether different sort of wet heat than the pool had provided.  Harry’s hands gently touched the wet blond hair and he threw his head back at the blissful sensations evoked by Malfoy’s tongue.

When his oxygen ran out, Malfoy got to his feet again to gasp for air.  He flung out a hand and cried, “ _Accio_ wand!”

The dark wood flew into Malfoy's hand and Harry felt another wrench of Apparition, this time transporting them to a dimly lit bedroom, illuminated by a single magical lamp burning next to the bed.  Another spell removed Harry’s sodden jersey— _thank you, lucky number 72_ , he thought absently—and then Malfoy shoved him backwards onto the bed and crawled between his legs.

 “I’ve been dreaming about fucking you into this mattress, Potter,” he said huskily.

The words shocked Harry even through the fog of lust clouding his brain.  “Wha—?  You…  You have?”

“But now that you’re here, I think I’d rather feel this—”  he reached down and gripped Harry’s still-hard length, “inside me.”

“That works out nicely,” Harry replied.  “Because I’ve been dreaming about _that_ being inside of you for quite a long time now.”

He was gratified by the surprise that lit the silvery eyes.  “How long a time?”

Harry grinned and then nuzzled Malfoy’s soft lips.  “About seven years, give or take a few months.”

“Seven years,” Malfoy repeated.

“That sounds about right.”

“You are a fucking idiot, Potter.”

“If I admit to the idiot, can we get on with the fucking?”

Malfoy sighed, but nodded and rolled them over until Harry lay atop him, finally allowing him to slide his skin against that glorious pale flesh.  His cock pressed firmly into Malfoy’s flank and he was pleased to feel an answering hardness digging into his abdomen.  The damned chain, however, was trapped beneath Malfoy’s neck, preventing Harry from touching anything lower than Malfoy's shoulders.

“Can you get rid of these damnable shackles?” he muttered.

“Not quite yet,” Malfoy answered and Harry growled, but yanked the chain downwards with both hands, causing Malfoy to yelp and raise himself up slightly, allowing Harry to move his hands down to grip his slender hips.  He wanted nothing more than to ram himself into Malfoy’s tight heat, but since he had waited such a bloody long time for this incredible moment, he felt it prudent to draw the process out.

He licked a stripe up Malfoy’s renewed erection and asked, “I’m curious, how long have you been thinking about this?”

“Certainly not seven years,” Malfoy said derisively.

Harry bit down gently and was answered with a sharp gasp.

“Maybe four.  Possibly five,” Malfoy admitted.

“Bloody hell,” Harry muttered and then sucked him in.  He left off after a few strokes, since bringing Malfoy off was not the goal at the moment—hearing the whimpering noises start anew was merely a bonus.  He nudged Malfoy’s legs wider with his shoulders and nibbled lightly at Malfoy’s throbbing testicles—earning another round of moaning cries—and then turned his attention to the lovely entrance he planned to invade as soon as it was properly prepared.  He licked it tentatively and smiled when Malfoy made a fluttering groan and seemed to relax into a puddle.

“Potter,” he whispered.

“Like that?” Harry asked and laved it gently several times before wrapping his lips around the sphincter and sucking in alternating rhythm to Malfoy’s increasingly loud cries.  When his tongue delved into the tight opening he thought Malfoy might launch completely off the bed.  Harry sent his tongue in and out sharply in accompaniment to Malfoy’s ragged gasps and whimpers.  When he was afraid Malfoy might come again he stopped and raised his head to look at him; Malfoy tipped his head up to meet Harry’s eyes.

 “Lube?  I can’t reach you,” Harry said and lifted his bound hands from Malfoy’s hips in a gesture of helplessness.  The chain was caught beneath Malfoys’s pelvis.

Malfoy clawed for his wand and cast several spells.  “All right, Potter.”

Harry levered himself up and gripped Malfoy’s hips firmly.  He positioned himself and felt Malfoy’s fingers guiding him into place.  He pressed gently into the tight heat that awaited him, entering with maddening slowness. He had to pause.  The impossibility of finally attaining the object of numerous fantasies quintupled the sensations.  Harry’s teeth clamped down hard on his lower lip and he hovered over Malfoy, staring into silver eyes that had gone dark as lead.

“Merlin, you feel amazing,” Harry admitted in a whisper.

A smile curved Malfoy’s lips, but it wasn’t the usual smirk Harry had grown to know and hate.  It was softer, somehow, and almost vulnerable.  It made a flutter in Harry’s midsection that had little to do with lust and was almost frightening with its unexpected intensity.  He froze at the realization that he did not want this to end as a crazy, incredible one-off.  He wanted more of Malfoy’s skin and Malfoy’s lips and Malfoy’s heart-stopping smiles and beautiful, wonderful noises.

“Are you planning to move, Potter, or are you posing for your latest statue?”  His dry voice cut through Harry’s reverie and he grinned lazily.

“Just wanted to hear your voice again, Malfoy,” Harry replied.  He pulled out slightly, nearly groaning at the blissful sensation of Malfoy’s tightness clenched against his length, and then slammed forwards, earning a yelp from Malfoy, who threw his head back and clutched at Harry’s wrists.  Harry released his grip slightly, not wanting to leave bruises on Malfoy’s hips.

“Potter,” he murmured and then made an incredible squeak when Harry thrust again.  Harry set up an almost punishing rhythm, altering his thrusts by the volume and intensity of Malfoy’s cries.  He repeated the movements that made Malfoy gasp and bite his lip to stifle the sound.  He felt an almost obsessive determination to drag every possible reaction from Malfoy, especially the ones he tried to suppress.

Unfortunately, he was so extraordinarily turned on he knew he wouldn’t last long.  He had already suppressed his imminent orgasm longer than he'd though possible and he could feel it building again quickly.  He cursed the shackles on his wrists again.

“Malfoy, I can’t…  I can’t reach you.  You’ll have to do it yourself.”

Malfoy seemed to understand and his right hand released Harry’s wrist in order to grasp his erection.  Harry watched as Malfoy stroked himself.  Bloody fucking hell, but that was an amazing sight in itself.  He wanted to imprint it in his memory forever, in order to draw it out and wank to it on lonely nights.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he admitted and was rewarded with that smile again.  Malfoy slowed his strokes and Harry did the same, trying to prolong the sensations.  It was impossible, however.  He felt his orgasm approach and knew it was going to be stellar.  He let it come.

Just as the rush exploded through him, he felt Malfoy clench more tightly around him.  The slender body arched like a strung bow and white liquid spilled over Malfoy’s flat abdomen.  Harry wanted to write his name in it, to leave some sort of possessive mark on Malfoy forever.  Although he supposed the faint line from the Sectumsempra scar counted.  He leaned down and traced a bit of it with his tongue in mute apology, tasting the sheen of sweat that covered Malfoy.

“You taste like salt.”

“Time for another bath, then,” Malfoy said, but he made no move to rise.  Harry knew the chain had to be cutting into Malfoy’s skin, so he released his hips and tugged the chain out from under him.  Malfoy’s long legs slid through the chain and then Harry was free—except that his wrists were still bound together.  He stretched out next to the languid blond.

“Are you going to take these off now?” Harry asked.

“Mmmm.  Let me see those.”  Malfoy took the chain in one hand and his wand with the other.  Harry expected a spell to remove the shackles, but Malfoy stretched his hands over his head, pulling Harry’s arms taut.  Malfoy quickly murmured a spell.

            “Wait…  What are you doing?” Harry cried.  He yanked at the chain, now attached to Malfoy’s headboard.  Malfoy yawned and spelled himself clean before looping an arm over Harry’s waist and pulling him close.  He tucked his head beneath Harry’s chin.

“I don’t want you sneaking off just yet.  Maybe I’ll let you go in the morning.”

Harry’s lips thinned into a line of annoyance, but it was difficult to find real anger with Malfoy’s body pressed into the length of his, especially with the prospect of more mind-blowing sex on the horizon.

“You are going to be in big trouble when you finally let me go, Malfoy,” he warned.

“Your reverse psychology will not work on me, Potter.  I will most likely release you in the morning.”  Malfoy’s lips tickled Harry’s chest as he spoke.  “Now go to sleep.”  He reached down and dragged a blanket over them both before resuming his position.

“Prat.”

“Wanker.”

Harry made his bound arms as comfortable as possible and looped one leg over the sexy blond irritant before smiling and drifting off to sleep. Seventy-two really was his lucky number, it seemed.

END

 


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